


sit enthroned in white grandeur

by CharlotteDaBookworm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Fall of Tenebrae, Kingsglaive - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Nox Fleuret Bastard, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Refugees, Tenebrae (Final Fantasy XV), Tenebraen Culture & Customs, War, Worldbuilding, and they like them even less when those refugees aren't even Lucian and look like Nifs, because Insomnians do not like refugees, or: that one where Sylva sends her son away to protect him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteDaBookworm/pseuds/CharlotteDaBookworm
Summary: You can lose everything - your home, your country, your family, your friends, even your name - in the course of a single night.Mat Fibrae,Amatus Fitz-Fleuret, knows that very well.At 16, Mat - refugee living in Insomnia, bastard child who wasbelovedall the same, who had been alone since he was 12 and his countryburned- joins the Kingsglaive. Because Niflheim took everything from him and he loathes them for it.





	sit enthroned in white grandeur

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own FFXV. The title of this work comes from the song _Beloved_ by Mumford and Sons, which is essentially Sylva and Amatus' relationship in a nutshell. Quotes from both Mumford and Sons & P!nk in this chapter

_Before you leave_

_You must know you are beloved_

_And before you leave_

_Remember I was with you_

_-Beloved, Mumford & Sons _

***

“That makes 58 wins to me!”

 

“Just you watch, I’ll beat you next time Harkness!” He spun around, walking backwards along the path as he jabbed a finger at his best friend.

 

“Oh yeah?” Clara taunted, eyes sparkling as she stalked closer. “Bring it! I can beat you anytime, anywhere, Fitz-Tenebrae!” She challenged.

 

He bristled. “Yeah right, the track record speaks for itself. I’m only one game behind you.”

 

“Next weekend it’ll be two games!”

 

“You’re on!”

 

They glared at each other for a short moment, faces studiously blank even as their lips twitched involuntarily, and then they both broke out into giant grins.

 

“Have you finished the history homework—ooooh,” The basketball tilted precariously from where it was balanced on his head and Amatus scrambled to steady it, raising his hands to correct the balance before it could fall even as he continued to grin at his classmate, before stumbled over the branch that he couldn’t see. Thumping heavily to the ground, the ball bounced, and he blinked, catching it absentmindedly and clutching it close.

 

“Oops.”

 

Amatus blinked up at his best friend.

 

Clara blinked back.

 

They both burst into laughter, giggling as she reached down to pull him up. “You’re an idiot, Amatus.” She said between giggles with a shake of her head and a sigh that didn’t hide the fond smile on her lips.

 

“Takes one to know one!” He responded automatically, raising the ball to deflect the punch to his arm that she aimed at his arm, still laughing as he ducked away from the second. “You know you love me.” He said with a grin.

 

She shrugged, getting her laughter under control. “You’re pretty.” Clara deadpanned, nonchalant. Like they hadn’t become friends when tiny and red-faced and covered in enough mud that they could hardly recognise each other the next day.

 

“It’s a curse.” Amatus nodded in agreement instead of commenting, flicking his pale hair dramatically out of his eyes and holding his face straight for about five seconds before they both burst into giggles again. Eventually, when they managed to look at each other for longer than a few seconds without doubling over in laughter, they carried on along their way home. “The history homework?”

 

Clara froze, staring at him wide-eyed in horror. “We actually have homework?”

 

He stopped as well, staring back at her in shock. “Yeah, that page of questions on the surrender of Accordo, due Monday. Don’t tell me you haven’t started yet…”

 

“I forgot. How did I forget?”

 

Shaking his head slowly, Amatus started walking again. “You’re so doomed.”

 

“I _know._ ” She jogged back up to walk next to him, bemoaning her fate all the while, and he couldn’t help but grin as she started plotting out excuses to give to their teacher; as though he didn’t know that she’d get it done anyway.

 

“Anyway, you know Maggie?”

 

“No, Clar. I don’t know any Maggie’s, it’s not like she’s been in our class since we were basically toddlers or anything.” She glared at him, muttering something about him being a _sarcastic git_ , and he stuck his tongue out at her. “What about Maggie?”

 

“She told me that her parents are finally allowing visitors for that litter of kittens that was born last week, do you want to go and see them tomorrow?”

 

Maggie’s family ran the animal shelter, Amatus remembered, and he perked up at the thought of an hour or two cuddling with kittens. And then he deflated. “I can’t. I have staff training tomorrow.”

 

“Oh,” Clara blinked at him a moment before realisation dawned. “Right, I forgot that your family’s traditional.”

 

“Yeah,” He shrugged with a smile. He couldn’t blame her for forgetting, it was rare, these days. And also: “We aren’t blatant about it, unlike _some people_ we know,” they shared an exasperated eye-roll at the thought of all of the idiots from school who wore their traditionalism like a badge of honour – bragging about training and saying the blessings as loudly as they could and looking down on those who weren’t traditional as though their faith made them _better_. “But it’s how my aunt and uncle were raised, and mum is pretty heavily traditional too; the whole family keeps to the old ways and always has done, apparently. So there’s no way that they’d let me skip training, not even for kittens.” Amatus pouted; he liked training, he did, but kittens.

 

Maybe he could convince his aunt and uncle to adopt one? Last time there was a litter he’d asked, and they’d said he was too young for the responsibility, but he was _twelve_ now. He was definitely old enough to look after a cat.

 

He was basically a teenager.

 

Clara laughing broke him from his thoughts. “Better luck next time, I guess. I’ll just have to go on my own.” She teased, darting away from him.

 

Amatus took chase after his best friend, shoving aside thoughts of adopting kittens for later.

 

***

“I’m home!” He called as he ducked out of the heavy rain that had come from nowhere and would probably stop in another five minutes.

 

 _Spring showers_ , Amatus thought with a grin, leaning out of the door to shout a goodbye at Clara as she ran past to her own house. _You have to love them_.

 

“Shower before tea, Amatus,” came from the living room alongside the clack of knitting needles as he entered the house proper, shaking water out of his eyes.

 

“Yes, auntie!” Padding on socked feet down the corridor, leaving wet footprints trailing behind him, and unable to resist the urge to glide on the wood, he slid into his bedroom with a clatter and a crash. “I’m alright!” He yelled, grinning as his uncle sighed audibly from the kitchen and his aunt laughed.

 

Tossing the ball into the hamper in the corner of the room, and cheering when he managed to get it in without it touching the sides, he paused momentarily to grab and towel and a clean change of clothes, slinging them over his shoulder as he came to a stop in front of his bedside table.

 

Opening up the drawer, he pulled a well-worn photo frame out, his delighted grin softening as he stared down at the two photos contained within - one a decade old and the second several years younger.

 

“Hey mum,” he whispered, kissing two fingers and pressing them to the left-hand image of his mother and himself, mud-covered and laughing, the last time that she’d visited when he was seven. Keen eyes scanned her face, memorising features that were already fading in his memories once more and picking out the traits that they shared. The same traits that were all the more obvious in the second image, two children with bright purple eyes and pale hair crowding around a woman holding a baby. The only picture he had of siblings that he couldn’t remember, that he only knew of through letters and stories.

 

The only two photos that he had of a mother that he loved so much.

 

It had been so long since he’d last seen her. He hoped that she’d be able to visit again soon.

 

“Amatus!”

 

He jolted, looking away from the photo towards the doorway. “I’m going!” He called to his uncle, glancing down at the frame again for a moment, brushing his mother’s face gently one last time, before he put it carefully back. “Miss you,” he murmured, pushing the drawer closed.

 

10 minutes later, Amatus exited the bathroom and slid into a seat at the kitchen table, towel draped around his neck to catch the excess water from his hair.

 

“Did you have fun with Clara?” His uncle asked, sliding a bowl of soup into place in front of him that he immediately fell upon after a muttered prayer.

 

The bowl was three-quarters empty by the time that he looked up again, sending a grin at his guardians. “Yeah,” he said, lighting up and reaching for some bread. “We bought some ice-cream – they’re planning on introducing some new flavours and we got to try a few different samples while we were there – and we played a couple of games and we had a race and Clara apparently managed to forget about the history homework and did you know that the shelter has a new litter of kittens?” He turned a soulful look on the adults at the blatant hint, begging silently.

 

His guardians shared a fond, exasperated look. “What’s the scorecard looking like then?” Auntie asked, dark eyes laughing.

 

Amatus pouted; at the subject change and at the reminder. “58-57 to her.”

 

A hand reached out and ruffled his hair. Amatus leaned into the touch even as his pout grew. “ _Auntie_ ,” he whined, reaching up to try and bring some order back to his already messy hair, tangling his fingers with his uncles. “Make him stop.”

 

His aunt just laughed, teeth bright against her skin and shaking her head at them both as they devolved into a slapping match – matching grins on their faces. It was only when they began to eye the, as of yet uneaten, bread on the table that she raised an eyebrow. “ _Boys_.”

 

They stopped, murmuring apologies in unison.

 

She rolled her eyes.

 

“Love you, auntie,” he grinned at her cheekily, sharing a conspiratorial look with his uncle – who was smiling unrepentantly, peering up at Amatus’ aunt from under his fringe in a way that had always made her melt.

 

His uncle had gotten them both out of more trouble than Amatus could name with that look.

 

Like she always did when faced with the two of them, his aunt melted with a sigh.

 

“I love you too,” she said, lips twitching as she tried to hold a stern face. “Now, go and finish your homework Amatus. You have lessons in the morning.”

 

Amatus groaned.

 

His aunt and uncle laughed at him

 

***

 _…and Clara mentioned that she might be going chocobo riding during the holidays and she said that I may be able to go along so long as everyone said it was fine and there’ll be_ chocobo’s _, mum, they’re so fluffy, please mum? Auntie and Uncle said that it was up to you, that they would talk to Clara’s parents if you agreed, and I promise to be good and do all my chores and send pictures._

_Please?_

“Amatus! Got to bed!”

 

Amatus jolted, pen skittering across the page. A glance at his alarm clock told him that it was edging closer to ten and when had it gotten so late?

 

“Okay!” He called back, glancing down at the letter he’d been writing.

 

 _I have to go,_ he wrote at the bottom of the page _, it’s bedtime and I have lessons in the morning. I love you mum, and ~~I hope you can come to visit again soon~~ I’ll write to you again after the game – give you a play-by-play when we win. Please think about the trip, it would be so fun and I’ll be good forever if I can go, I promise._

_I hope that you have a nice week and that everything goes well_

_All my love, Amatus_

_P.S. I am definitely old enough and responsible enough to take care of a kitten_

 

Leaning back in his chair, he reached up, grasping the simple, unadorned necklace that lay around his neck. It was the only thing he had of her, of his mum, outside of those two pictures that he always kept hidden away. The only connection that he had with his family – the only part of them that stayed with him, always – and he knew that his mother loved him, had never really doubted that, had always ignored the voice in the back of his mind that whispered _bastard child_ and _she gave me up,_ but he _wanted_ …

 

It didn’t matter, anyway.

 

He was happy as it was.

 

His mother loved him. His aunt and uncle loved him. They did. And he loved them.

 

With practised movements, Amatus released his death grip and sealed the letter, leaving it unlabelled at the edge of his desk – as he always did when writing his mother – before turning the light off and heading to bed.

 

On the way, he brushed a hand against the drawer, picturing the frame within.

 

 _Good night, mum_.

 

***

Amatus jolted awake, throwing himself from the bed and across the room.

 

Wide-eyed, heart-pounding, he fumbled with the device until the correct numbers blinked up at him, stark red in the darkness of his room.

 

Squinting in the sudden light, he collapsed backwards on his bed in relief.

 

He set his alarm.

 

Everything was fine.

 

 _Thank the Six I remembered now,_ he thought as he crawled back under the warm duvet. _They’d_ kill me _if I woke up late, I’d have to run so many laps, it would be hell._ Was his last thought as he closed his eyes.

 

He was asleep again within seconds.

 

***

“ _Amatus!”_

 

A hand shook his shoulder.

 

He groaned. It was too early for this. His alarm hadn’t even gone off yet.

 

It was sleep time.

 

“ _Amatus_!” The voice hissed again, and he blinked blurry eyes open to be met with his uncle’s pale face. A cold chill shot down his spine.

 

His uncle looked _scared_.

 

“Uncle…?”

 

“Get dressed,” his uncle ordered, standing now that he knew that Amatus was awake. He moved around the room, reaching for his backpack with his typical grace and dumping the contents aside. Warm clothes were tossed at Amatus, a look telling him to put them on even as his uncle pulled the pre-made kits from the bottom of his wardrobe and placed them in the backpack.

 

“Uncle?”

 

He was scared.

 

And his uncle obviously noticed that, because when he turned to face him, he softened, frown melting into a reassuring half-smile. “Your aunt is waiting downstairs, why don’t you go and join her?”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

Amatus found his aunt darting around the kitchen, dark skin ashen as she piled the dining room table high with letters and papers and electronics – the hard drives from the computers and their phones – and photos – all of the photos that were scattered around the house, the scrapbooks that he remembered making with them when he was younger, certificates and school photos and ID’s, anything that pictured them.

 

Anything that could _identify_ them.

 

“What’s happening?” he asked, hovering in the doorway. Hesitating.

 

There was a sick feeling, in the pit of his stomach. Like he was standing at the edge of a precipice, just waiting for the moment that he would fall over the edge.

 

“ _Amatus_ ,” she breathed and before he could blink he was pulled into an embrace, hands fisted in the back of his aunt’s jacket – why was she wearing her jacket, they were indoors? – as she pulled him close.

 

And then his uncle was there, wood and paper in hand, two bags slung over his shoulder, and his aunt pulled away, taking the items his uncle held out and adding them to the pile on the table.

 

“Is this everything?” She asked over his head, a hand still resting on his shoulder even as she looked at the pile with hard eyes.

 

His uncle nodded solemnly. “That I can find, yes.”

 

They shared a look, something sharp passing between them, and Amatus swallowed – looking away from the people who had raised him. Eyes catching on the pile on the table, he frowned. Was that his letter? Why…? And that was definitely his photo frame.

 

The photo frame containing the only two pictures that he had of his mother.

 

A choked noise escaped his throat and his guardians turned back to him.

 

***

Later, days, weeks, months, years later, Amatus would only remember the rest of the night in pieces, vivid detail interspaced with blurred recollections interspaced with nothing at all, would only remember their flight in flashes of senses and images:

 

 _Your mother’s name is Sylva._ Amatus had frozen. He’d never heard his mother’s name spoken aloud before, had never seen it written anywhere. She’d always just been his _mum_. Nobody had ever told him her name and he’d stopped asking by the time he was five.

_Like the Queen?_ He’d asked, despite the fact that he didn’t need to, not really. He’d always suspected – he’d spent so long staring at those two pictures and well, it wasn’t the only place that he’d seen that face – but he’d never _known_.

 

His aunt laughed, the sound harsh, so unlike the quiet, fearful, grieving whisper of that first statement.

 

 _Your mother is dead_. Something inside of him shattered, horrible cloying grief and an empty space inside of him and the bitter realisation of something that a part of him had already known – his mother was gone, and he would never see her again, and he didn’t understand.

_The Queen is dead, Amatus. Your mother is dead. Killed by Niflheim. The Manor has fallen We need to leave. It isn’t safe here, not any longer._

 

His aunt setting fire to the pile of documents.

 

His childhood home burning – the flames bright against a dark sky – and everything that he had from his mother burning with it.

 

Stars obscured by smoke in the sky, burning his eyes.

 

Roads and streets and trees flying by, wind cold against his face as he cuddled into the warmth his uncle like he had so many times before. For the first time, his hand against his back didn’t make him feel safe.

 

Tense silences interspaced with thunderous sounds of gunfire and screams.

 

 _Fear_ , so much fear – his heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, wide-eyed and shaking with it, knuckles white around a knife.

 

A whisper, in his ear. _It isn’t safe to be Amatus Fitz-Tenebrae, eventually they will look for you and you have to be safe. Amatus Fitz-Tenebrae, Amatus Fitz-Fleuret, will never be safe. But another boy would be._ Mat _will be_.

 

Salt-water in the air as they reached the **_beach_**. The press of people and the sand and sea and blood, shouts and screams and pleas and  tears, fear and desperation and rage, boats packed full to bursting and then with more on top, backpack straps tight around his shoulders and water freezing against his legs and his family a burning line at his back and then…

 

***

Hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him upwards, pulling him _away_ , and Amatus struggled.

 

Because there wasn’t room, not for all of them, and he would leave them. Couldn’t leave them. They were his family. But his aunt and uncle, they just push him upwards, into the arms of the stranger on the boat, standing uncaring in the water, wreathed by flames and screams.

 

“No! Don’t leave me, please! Don’t make me go, don’t leave me alone, I can’t lose you, _please!_ ” he screamed, begged, _sobbed_ – tears streamed down his face, arms like a steel vice around his middle and no matter how he struggled he couldn’t escape.

 

Amatus reached for them, desperately, and they reached back - grasping fingers brushing against theirs before they pulled away, leaving them standing there as they smiled at him, small and sad and _loving_.

 

“We love you,” his uncle whispered, not moving closer, not reaching for him, and there were tears streaming down their faces as well. “We love you, so much. Stay safe, stay hidden, stay alive. Be happy.”

 

He struggled more, trying to get off of the boat, trying to get back to them, flailing and fighting and cursing as he tried and failed to get free.

 

He couldn’t lose them.

 

 _Please_.

 

The boat pulled away and their figures grew more and more distant and still Amatus fought, still he clawed at the arms holding him back, eyes locked on his family, never giving up, never stopping, even as he couldn’t _breathe_ for the lump in his throat, even as he couldn’t see for the tears in his eyes. He didn’t stop.

 

Not until they were out of sight. Until they weren’t even specks on the horizon. Until the sounds of chaos – the screams and the cries and the begging and the despair – faded away.

 

It was then, and only then, that the fight drained out of him.

 

Amatus slumped against the railing, the arms that hold him finally releasing him, and there’s this big empty hole inside of him that _burned_.

 

They were gone.

 

Slowly, he slid to the floor, curling up around his backpack – containing everything he owns, now, his entire life cut down to a single bag – between a silent old woman and a sobbing teenager. One hand clutched the straps with a white-knuckled grip and the other was clenched around his neckless, pulling the chain tight enough that it dug painfully into his neck.

 

Amatus didn’t care.

 

( _Amatus will never be safe. But_ Mat _will be_ )

_(He couldn’t be Amatus. Amatus was dead. He died with his home and his family. Burned with Tenebrae. But, for them, for all of them, he could be Mat_

_Mat would live where Amatus had died.)_

 

 **Mat** didn’t care.

 

He kept his eyes on the horizon, watching flames fade into the distance, watching as his home _burned_ , and still, he cried. Silent tears dripping down his face and he watched as everything he’d ever known grew smaller and smaller, knowing that he would likely never see any of it again.

 

Mat watched quietly – _silently_ – as his home burned and, in that moment, he _hated_.

 

***

_In the circle game, no one ever stopped to say,_

_“Soon it’s gonna change, it all just goes away”_

_-Circle Game, P!nk_

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is like because I'm posting this chapter pretty much completely unedited. So, yeah. Sorry for all the mistakes that are probably there
> 
> Mostly because it is just past midnight and is now officially my 21st birthday and I wanted to get _something_ posted for today. So, yay to 21, I guess. Have a gift from me to myself when I should really be sleeping
> 
> Anyway, please tell me what you think


End file.
